Like The Fog
by Randally
Summary: Sometimes the bravest thing a person can do is ask for help.
1. Chapter 1

Like The Fog

I've never written anything just for fun, so I can't make any promises about how this is going to go.

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><p>I had visited this room three times in the last month and in that time not much had changed. I had a myriad of silent complaints concerning the place; the lights were too dim, the couch was too soft, the quilted pillows with cats stitched on them were ridiculous. I almost always kept my thoughts to myself.<p>

Staring quietly at the dark, heavy curtains that hid the afternoon sun, I allowed my mind to wander. The man seated across from me never seemed to be too bothered by it. He was a slightly more troublesome issue than cat pillows and a lack of sunlight. The tension was relentless, as it always was in the beginning, and the silence stretched uncomfortably between us.

"Carlos." He always seemed to notice when I mentally strayed and brought my attention back to him. "How has your week been?"

I shifted my eyes to his, certain that my stare could unnerve him. His patient nonchalance stared back and the familiar annoyance stirred inside me. This man was too calm, too composed. No person was that good and it bothered me that he liked to pretend. For a moment I wondered if people felt that way about me when I acted impassive. Sometimes I saw him as an enemy that had to be outdone. The only way to win was to rattle his confidence.

Minutes passed and the staring contest continued, with each of us trying to be more aloof than the other. He uncrossed his legs, shifted his elbow to the side of his chair, and blew a short sigh through his nose. I did not move.

"Carlos, remember that we can't move forward if you refuse to cooperate," he huffed, finally sounding mildly annoyed.

I win again. A petty victory, surely, but all I wanted was some assurance that I could push his buttons if I chose to. I settled into the overstuffed couch, much more comfortable because I knew then that I was capable of manipulating him by exercising some patience.

"Everything is exactly the same," I answered his original question. He breathed another quiet sigh. Probably relieved I was finally speaking to him.

"Alright, then tell me again about your nightmares. Has anything changed?"

The directness of the question caught me off guard. I felt my muscles once again stiffen but easily managed to keep the surprise from my face. The staring continued. His composure had returned and the tension in the room was back with a vengeance. The nightmares may very well be the reason why we were here, but he had never outright pressed for information regarding my dreams.

He was an irregularly tall, slender man of about 60. Wispy gray hair receded from a long forehead above a face that looked as if it had been stretched over the years. Strangely large, gray eyes that were set too far apart gave him a chronically baffled look. His long, delicate arms extended well over the arms of the chair; ending with long, delicate fingers and neatly trimmed nails. His tailored, gray slacks and a boring button-down shirt completed his gray, stuffy room and his gray existence.

Generally he stuck with simple, inconsequential questions and waited for me to come to him. I thought that I had finally cracked his patient façade. In reality, I had merely pushed him to switch from the passive to the offensive. Clearly Dr. Newman had been underestimated. Even when faced with my unwillingness, we were somehow "communicating" again. I could not go back to the safety of silence now. I had fallen for a trap and the game had changed.

"They are the same as well," I replied without inflection, never taking my eyes from his. I could feel my hands showing slight tension and forced them to relax. I had explained the recurring dream in full detail during session one. Lately it had come to me more frequently. Nearly every night I followed the same story and felt the same emotions, like a movie that kept repeating. If I just closed my eyes, I could see it. The images burned in my mind's eye.

Normally in the light of day, nightmares can't hurt you. The fog can't curl around you or cloud your vision. The chills can't seep into your bones. The ghosts can't find you. Thoughts of the dream, even during the day, raised the hairs on my neck and caused goose bumps to skitter across my arms. Even in blazing sunlight I could relive the horror, feel the fear leeching at me, threatening to steal my soul. I quickly pushed away thoughts of the dream.

"Then how about we discuss Stephanie? I'm trying to better understand your relationship with her," he pressed again, pretending to be unaware of my discomfort. If he couldn't play with the topic I was the least enthusiastic to discuss, he would go straight for the throat of my second least favorite: explaining Stephanie.

Regardless, my mind willingly shifted to lighter, more pleasant thoughts and the woman in question. Once again, I could not think of any way to capture her in words that could convey exactly why she was so important. There was certainly no way to describe her in the short sentence that I wanted to give. I certainly was not about to spend the next hour spouting waxing poetry like some pansy ass or rambling about her many virtues. The situation was about to get much more complicated if I allowed it to continue.

"Don't overanalyze it. Just start from the beginning. How did you meet?" He sensed my frustration but that only proved to annoy me further.

I came here for answers and all the quack ever did was ask more questions. And I almost always kept my thoughts to myself.


	2. Chapter 2

Like The Fog

Chapter 2

Thanks for the reviews. The more I write, the more I feel like I probably shouldn't have winged this. I'm having fun, either way.

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><p>Gripping tightly to the steering wheel, I glared at the dark, empty street ahead of me. I sat in the Porsche and waited for the sunrise. The illumination from the street lamps caused my vision to blur but I did not attempt to focus on anything.<p>

I hated this. I hated doubting myself and my abilities. I hated not having a clear and finite answer. I hated the anxiety and the complexity and everything in the world that I still did not understand. So I sat in my car, stared at nothing, and tasted hate for a moment.

"I need you to understand. This is going to get worse before it gets better." I remembered Newman looking at me with his big, dull eyes and just hating him.

He threw familiar medical jargon at me that bounced around in my head long after our first session. Possible post-traumatic stress, anxiety, depression; words that threatened weakness and made strong men less than men. Disorders. Diseases.

I did not need treatment for any of those. I just needed my head cleared so I could get some rest. I needed a switch to shut my brain off for a few hours every night. If I had allowed this fester any longer it would have slowly eaten away at my sanity. I had sought the doctor's help so I tried to not feel contempt for him. I knew any hatred was unfounded. It had no reasonable existence but still it loomed over my head every time he prodded me with another invasive question.

I caught myself playing imaginary games with my mind and his, trying to outdo him in a competition that did not exist. It was easier than focusing on my own problems. I was fighting for control of a situation that I no longer had any control over.

A lone car crawled across my field of vision and disappeared as quickly as it had come. The clock on the dash showed that it was nearing 5 a.m. Soon the sun would lift over the horizon and I could go back to my apartment, pretending life was easy. The lack of sleep was starting to have an effect on me and the days had become a blur of paperwork and meetings. At night I would return immediately to my apartment and fall easily into bed. Only to be awoken an hour later by my own exhausted mind, with a pounding headache and sweaty sheets.

This constant edge was destroying me. I couldn't escape into sleep, so I had to go somewhere. No use staying in my apartment, where memories of the dream lingered. Usually I would just drive, without direction or destination, and eventually stop somewhere to watch the world sleep.

The sky had faded from glowing lavender to pale blue. I took one last glance at the building beside me before pulling out of the small parking lot. I was not welcome there at that moment, so I did not feel the need to ascend the stairs. It did not really matter; Stephanie was always very forgiving. Soon we would be back to routine.

The Porsche slid smoothly into the underground garage and I glided into my space near the elevator. Before stepping from the car, I assessed my emotions, as the doctor had suggested. To better understand myself and keep my composure, he said.

Exhausted, but that was a given. Unsociable, but that was normal for morning. Slightly angry, but more at myself for wallowing in self-pity for longer than 10 minutes. If that was all, then I felt fairly certain I would live. I shoved my phone into my pocket and opened the door.

As I stood and stretched my legs, the light above the elevator began to blink slowly. The doors opened and out stepped Tank, looking distracted and carrying an over-sized thermos that I knew was filled with coffee. His namesake surely fit him, because every time he casually strolled toward me, I still felt as if I was about to be run over.

"Yo, Rangeman. Getting back from working out?"

Mental gymnastics. My new morning workout.

"Sure." I replied, making moves to pass him.

He stopped and pivoted in my direction, looking at me for a long moment.

"Well, maybe you should sleep in tomorrow."

With that said, he gave me a resounding slap on the shoulder and unlocked a nearby SUV.

Tank was my brother and comrade. He knew what I needed when I needed it, and right now, I did not need another person telling me how to better myself. But he was not about to pussyfoot around the issue either. It was possible he was worried. Making suggestions that definitely sounded more like orders was his way of coping with my behavior. I was certain my current state had been the talk of the fifth floor for the past 3 weeks.

"I'll catch you when I get back," he said out the open window and steered the SUV toward the garage opening.

I stepped into the elevator, throwing a slight wave over my shoulder, and rode to my apartment. It was cool and welcoming. The lights were always dimmed, but in the morning the sunlight came through the window and lit the bedroom in brilliant shades of orange. For a while, I lay on the bed and listened to the silence. So peaceful, but that would not last if I allowed myself to drift off.

_The sun is bright and unrelenting. It's hot, but my body still trembles with chills. _

My eyes snapped open and I shook my head slightly. The desperate part of me wanted to take a pill and sink into blissful oblivion, but the rest of me disagreed. There would be no dependency in my life.

_Sweat beads on my forehead but the rest of me is freezing. My fingers feel pain from the cold._

_My feet slip around beneath me and I stumble. I can't ever find even footing. _

_I can't see anything either, except for the sun above me. The dark fog drifts around sluggishly, preventing me from making anything out. _

_A black, cold cloud of nothing beneath the blazing sun._

I shook my head viciously and forced myself to sit up. Quickly dressing in clean clothing, I laced my boots and shot to my office. There was always plenty of work to be done, more than I could ever need for a distraction.

The office was simple and tasteful. A large, wooden desk, a decorative ficus, a towering bookshelf, and a pricey, black leather chair were the only accents. Two large windows overlooked the ugly buildings across the street from mine.

Strolling confidently to my chair, I sat down and pulled a stack of pages from my inbox to center them in front of me. Unfortunately, when I attempted to focus on the words before me, lines blurred and merged, creating a mess of illegible black and white. I leaned back in my comfortable chair and closed my eyes, intending to blink and clear them. My chin dropped slowly to my chest.

_The sun is bright and unrelenting._


End file.
